P.S. - That paper peeking out from under the coffe table - that's the actual cover of Lunch in Paris: A Love Story with Recipes - Little Brown sent it last week. The book comes out on Feb 1st, so this is getting real. Soon I'm going to start putting annoying little links at the end of each post reminding you to pre-order. No reason for faithful blog followers to pay full price...
You know it’s Christmas in Paris when the refrigerator looks like this: the fruit drawer is full of cheese, the cheese drawer is full of foie gras, the four bottles of water on the door have been replaced with champagne and the lettuce (wrapped loosely in a dishtowel) is wedged in over two broad, beady-eyed live crabs (nicknamed Gerard and Gaston). G. forgot they were in there. When he opened the door they started rustling - he thought it was a poltergeist.
Since G.’s family is from Brittany, on the Channel coast, Christmas dinner chez nous is usually fish, and fruits de mer (shellfish). My mother-in-law is very particular about her oysters. Only those from the seaside town of Cancale will do. They are hard to find in Paris, so ixnay on the oysters. The still-squirming langoustines were 79 Euros a kilo, which seemed excessive, even for Christmas. That’s how I ended up with Gerard and Gaston. I will boil them alive tomorrow, and let them hang out on the windowsill until fully cooled. My neighbors across the way hang socks. I hang crab.
Pot au Feu
3 large beef cheeks (about 4 pounds of meat) – you can use a mix of meats – traditionally different cuts of beef – sometimes I add a large veal shank (it’s nice to have something with a bone)
Sea salt
1 onion
5 cloves
20 whole peppercorns (black or mixed)
A small bundle of fresh thyme
A bundle of parsley (on the stem)
2 bay leaves
8 carrots (what my mom calls “dirty carrots” – they’ve been harvested and buried in sand – so they are mature and extra sweet)
8 golden turnips
1 large bulb fennel
12 small potatoes, peeled
3 leeks, trimmed and cut into 4-5 inch lengths
To garnish: mini cornichon pickles, chopped flat leaf parsley, dijon mustard, coarse sea salt
Place the meat in your largest stockpot and cover with cold water, add some salt, the onion pricked with the 5 cloves, and the rest of the spices. Bring to a boil, skim the foamy fat, and simmer, covered, for 3-4 hours. Beef cheeks have a lot of gelatin that needs to dissolve – so as long as you cook them at a slow simmer, there’s not much risk of drying out.
Add the veggies, and cook until tender but not falling apart. If you don’t have a seriously large pot, you’ll have to do this in stages, for example – add the turnips, fennel and carrots, wait until they are cooked through, then fish them out. Add the potatoes and cook through. The leeks take the least amount of time. If you do the vegetables in stages, you can add everything back to the pot to heat up just before serving. You might want to season the bouillon with more salt as you go along – up to you.
Serve the meat and veggies on a platter. Pass the pickles, parsley, mustard and additional coarse sea salt. Serve the steaming bouillon in bowls on the side.
Serves 6-8
I can cook myself out of a funk. I’ve done it before, I can do it again. Last week I was thanking the world for all its riches, this week I’m having trouble dragging myself out of bed and I can’t seem to dig a path toward the surface of my desk.Part of this, I think, has to do with child care – we have not yet availed ourselves of the many fabulous options for French day care – not even sure what we could get into at this point. Not sure why the new parent exhaustion has decided to hit me now – but here it is, and it feels like a sledgehammer.
I was on the phone with my mother last night trying to put together documents for Augustin’s American citizenship appointment next week. They need proof that I actually lived on US soil for 5 years. I have my college transcript of course, and Paul found some electric bills and old pay stubs from my job at the American Craft Museum. But my childhood, it seems, has been all but erased. Mom called back later, just for fun, to tell me she’d been to the vault and found my 1st grade report card from Ms. Lydia Becker, saying, in so many words: “Elizabeth is very creative, but doesn’t quite have her shit together.” What else is new? I’m working on it.
The apartment, it has to be said, is a disaster at the moment – if we were trying to adopt a child, we would never pass inspection. Somehow half the contents of the linen closet ended up in the bathtub – and what came out simply won’t go back in. I tried to remedy the situation by throwing out a shoebox of old make-up – the lipstick from my wedding (was it really that brownish?) and some Annick Goutal perfume samples that I couldn’t bear to toss because I love the name – Ce Soir ou Jamais (tonight or never), but hate the smell.
Thank god, cleaning out the cupboards in the kitchen is a lot more satisfying than the bathroom. I have a city kitchen – so there is not much room for stock, but I do have my staples. No matter what else is out of whack, I can usually count on having a box of Puy lentils and a can of tomatoes on hand.
The French are very attached to lentils; they are sensible unpertenious year-round fare - served cold and al dente in summer salads or warm and spiced under a piece of pan roasted salmon for a dinner party. Lentils are yet another example of what Americans might eat only as diet or health food that the French eat just because they're really good.
Often I just simmer my lentils as a vegetarian dish – onions, a can of tomatoes, some broth cubes, lots of chopped parsley a bit of white wine. But this week required a little extra omph, so I added a cured ham hock – which gave the whole pot a wonderful smoky sit-by-the-fire-and-put-your-feet-up flavor.
When I de-boned the pork and spooned some lentils into shallow bowls – it looked rather put together, like something you might see in a trendy “comfort food” bistro of the moment. Not bad for the back of the cupboard. I figure, if I can still put together a presentable dinner, it’s possible that I’m not quite as strung out as I feel…
Stewed Lentils with Smoked Pork
1 smoked ham hock
500 grams (2 ½ cups) dried Puy lentils
2 tbsp. oil olive
1 medium red onion, chopped
2 carrots, chopped
A few sprigs of fresh thyme
1 28 ounce can of whole tomatoes (with their juice), chopped
1 cup of dry white wine
6 cups of water or broth
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
To serve: chopped fresh coriander, sour cream or cream fraiche, fresh lime
Heat the oil over a medium heat in a large stockpot. Add the onion and carrot, sauté for 5-10 minutes, until the onion is translucent.
Add the lentils and stir to coat with oil. Add the wine, broth, chopped tomatoes, parsley and bay leaf and a good grinding of pepper. Place the ham hock in the center. Leave to simmer over a low heat with cover ajar until the lentils are tender and most of the liquid has been absorbed, about 1 hour.
Debone the pork. Serve lentils in a shallow bowl topped with chunks of meat – I like to serve with a slice of lemon or lime and some fresh coriander on top. There will be enough meat for two. Enough leftover lentils to get serve another 3 or 4. The leftovers make excellent soup – try stirring in a little cumin when you reheat. Then serve the lentils, steaming hot, with a dab of fresh plain yogurt or sour cream – squeeze over the lime and a add some chopped fresh coriander.
Serves 2 the first time around with meat, enough lentils for 6
